In Hazard by Richard Hughes Page A

mechanically, and began to crawl on his belly, feet first, down the companion, gaining heart as he went.
    But Rabb did not move: did not seem conscious. Must be woken.
    â€œYou bloody skunk!” Captain Edwardes began; and did not stop at that. He kicked the man, and cursed on: ashamed of his language, for he was not a man used to cursing: but clinging desperately to his belief in its tonic qualities. He called back to mind words he had not used since he was a schoolboy. But the green, almost luminous wet stare of Rabb’s face was his only answer. For all their effect, the words he used might have been mother’s milk.
    But he could not leave him like that. Fear like that is worse than plague on board: it spreads quicker. You cannot allow it.
    Down in his cabin was his revolver. He turned to fetch it; for shooting seemed the only thing left.
    Then he had another, a more intelligent, idea, as a thud huger than most shook the bridge. He let out a great simulated screech, and fell on the deck beside Rabb, clutching at him. “My God!” he cried: “Did you feel that? The bridge is going! The next bloody great sea’ll carry away the whole bloody bridge, and every bloody man on it! For Christ’s sake, man, let’s get below while there’s still time!”
    A tremor ran through Rabb’s body. Without a sound, without a flicker of expression on his dead face, he wormed his way to the top of the companion and disappeared. But Edwardes was with him. And when Rabb next came anywhere near to normal consciousness, he found himself sitting in a doorway of the centre-castle, superintending (after a fashion) old Dr. Frangcon and three Chinamen fixing new hatches over Number 6 hatchway.
    When Dick Watchett got to the foredeck, he ran into Mr. Buxton in the dark. Buxton felt him shaking.
    â€œWhat’s the matter, Dick?” asked the Mate.
    â€œI’m frightened,” said Dick: astonished at his own shamelessness in confessing.
    But Mr. Buxton did not seem shocked. “Of course you are. So am I. But you’re here , that’s all that matters.”
    On his way back to the bridge, Captain Edwardes stumbled over another figure, slumped in a corner. It was the boy Bennett: who had nearly been killed trying to fix the hatches the afternoon before. Now fear had got him too.
    Edwardes did not try to encourage him. He picked him up and carried him into his own cabin: tucked him up in the bunk.

Chapter VI
(Thursday)
    That chaotic gustiness, with no sign of abatement, continued for half an hour. You could hear each gust coming by its distant howling, which rose crescendo till it hit you: sometimes, from different directions, two or three at once. They soon guessed it was all the “calm” they were to have.
    It was utter black dark.
    Yet the work was done— hard . Buxton and Dick, torches strapped to their waists, worked alone on the forward hatches, with Foster the second mate superintending supplies. Aft, Dr. Frangcon: who, by a miracle, had three Chinamen more or less composed and working with him. But they did not make much progress; for Dr. Frangcon was an old man, he had not the strength nor the practice for this job, though he had the heart. Captain Edwardes, shadowing Mr. Rabb, came down to take a hand himself; but that did not turn out well, because of the Chinese. They found it too much of an honour to work side by side with their captain, it turned them at once from seamen into flunkeys: so that the moment Captain laid hold of anything to pull or push, six yellow hands dropped whatever useful thing they were doing to pull or push for him. When he tried to work they took his work from him: and chaos was even worse.
    So he gave it up. He went forward to take Buxton’s place on the fore-hatches, and sent Buxton (being a shade less august) aft.
    Buxton fell over Rabb, sitting in the doorway.
    â€œYou go forward now, Mr. Rabb,” he said, “and help the Captain